


D&D - Clear the Air

by rprambles



Series: Moe Dulosk [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Conversation, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Keeping Watch, reconnecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23429743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rprambles/pseuds/rprambles
Summary: He keeps looking back to his son, trying to match the man before him with the little boy he'd last seen.
Series: Moe Dulosk [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1509014
Kudos: 1





	D&D - Clear the Air

It doesn't feel real. He keeps racking his brain, trying to find memories that might make sense of it. All he finds is hazy flashes of battle and Nat - _gods, poor Nat._ He half wonders if it will all disappear when he wakes up. It's certainly surreal enough to be a dream. But when he's nudged awake it's with a hoof and he looks up at his son.

"Time for watch."

Gil nods and sits up with a grimace. Sleeping in armor is already uncomfortable, but his body feels older than it should. Aches and scars he doesn't remember getting. More proof this isn't a dream.

His son has already walked past the slumbering members of the party to sit by the upturned table. The elven man - druid? or werebear? - is awake, setting pouches down in a neat row. The other tiefling - Ardan, that was the name - settles into his own bedroll before flashing Gil a grin. "Night Dad!"

Gil has a sudden urge to check on his coin. Though he's not sure he has any, now that he thinks about it. He shakes his head and stands up. Tying his sword to his belt, he joins his son at the entryway. "He, ah, doesn't actually think I'm his father, does he?"

"No." He sounds a little amused. "Ardan just likes fucking with people. Keeps things interesting."

A whisper of magic and light makes Gil jump and he turns; the maybe-druid-maybe-werebear doesn't look up, tipping a handful of berries into a pouch. 

"Goodberries," his son explains. "He'll rest again during Lyvia's watch."

"That's clever."

"That's Ilthuryn." Moe's already returned to watching the hallway. Gil tries to do the same, but he keeps looking back to his son, trying to match the man before him with the little boy he'd last seen. On the surface that's not difficult. Red-brown skin, golden eyes - _Nat's eyes_ \- stubborn set of his jaw. His horns had grown in, nearly matching his mother's.

Past the immediate are things he doesn't recognize. A hard expression, stature of an experienced combatant, scars picked up along the way here. He wants to ask when the quiet little boy had picked up the greatsword resting on his lap, how recent the lightning scar is, when had he become so angry. But Gil knows the answer.

Golden eyes narrow when Moe catches him staring. "What?"

Gods, the aggression in his voice hurts. "Still trying to wrap my head around this."

Moe's frown fades. "That's fair. Twenty years is a long time to be dead."

"It is." Twenty years a walking corpse for those... creatures, while his son waited for him to keep a promise. Twenty years for Nat and that's a painful line of thought he shouldn't follow right now. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth." 

Moe looks back at the hallway. "...not your fault."

"Still." 

"...Yeah."

Gil sighs softly, leaning back against the wall. "At least you have friends."

Moe glances over his shoulder at the mostly-sleeping group. "Oh, this is new. Maybe seven months now."

"What? But in Red Larch, that boy you'd always play with. Loren, wasn't it?"

Moe snorts. "That's right, you weren't there for that. Like a year after, he started repeating the racist shit his parents would say."

Anger flashes through him and Gil has to remind himself to speak quietly. " _What?_ "

"I tried to just ignore it, but then he said Nora and Agnes were dumb, so I broke his nose."

 _Good man._ "As you do."

"Yeah." Moe smirks briefly. "He turned into a bully later on, so I got some lessons from the militia so I could defend myself."

Gil swallows the regret rising at the back of his throat. "Were there other kids?"

His son shrugs. "Sure. Doesn't mean they wanted to be friends with the tiefling kid with a bad attitude. I mostly hung out with the adventurers that came through town."

He's not sure what to say to that. He'd known Moe would face prejudice; Nat had dealt with it far too often. But he'd hoped it wouldn't be so prevalent in his hometown. Would it have been better if he'd stayed? Not that it makes a difference now. Gods, he's a fool. 

"Is that why you started traveling?" he asks eventually.

"No, I decided I'd come and find you. Get some answers. But I do like parts of it. Seeing new places, helping others." Moe looks over his shoulder with a soft smile. "This group of assholes."

“Nice way to talk about your friends.”

“Am I wrong?”

Gil can’t argue that. “When we get through this, maybe you can tell me about your travels.”

Moe looks back at the hallway. After a moment he lets out a long sigh. “...maybe. Still mad at you.”

That’s more than fair. He’s going to be mad at himself for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> my DM is evil and intellect devourers are terrifying


End file.
